


Of White Paint and Rice Cereal

by dayone



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Based on a Tumblr Post, Can be read as a romantic or platonic relationship, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve's a painter, Steve's mad and Bucky's just trying to help, mentions of others but very briefly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-17 01:44:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4647579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dayone/pseuds/dayone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Mad? I’m furious! But who wouldn’t be mad? You ate all of my cereal and faked your death for three years!"</p><p>In which Steve is still recovering from Bucky's "death", Bucky was hungry and just wants to see his friends again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of White Paint and Rice Cereal

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, kudos and constructive criticism are welcome and highly appreciated.

My feet barely leave the ground as I walk back to my apartment from the subway stop. To say it had been a long day would’ve been an understatement. I went out to get more paint for a piece I’ve been working on for ages, a metallic arm that Bucky said he’d get Tony to make him if he ever lost one of his because he thinks it looks badass. All in all, that trip was horrible but I did get my paint. I saw so many things on that trip that reminded me of Bucky, one of those Black Labradors that Bucky always wanted, someone that sounded almost identical to him, a leather jacket he would’ve loved. Some days I think I’m finally accepting that he’s gone and then I hear a song or see something he would’ve just adored and it all comes crashing back down on me again.

I unlock my apartment door and still barely lifting my feet, toe off my shoes and put the paint in my studio, staring at the photo of Bucky and I that Natasha took four years ago at the beach that I have pinned on the wall. It’s been three years and I’m still getting over his death. Some days are worse than others of course, some I almost forget about him completely. Almost.

My friends have noticed this shift in my emotions. Of course they had. His death had been hard on all of us but everyone thinks it hit me the hardest. I know it did. It’s not every day you lose your only childhood friend, your best friend, not fifteen minutes after spending the entire day with him. I know most car crashes aren’t anyone’s fault, just a mix of unfortunate circumstances but I still feel like it’s my fault. If only I insisted he sleepover. If only we had went to his place instead. If only we’d left earlier. If only we’d left later. If only we’d planned a different day. If only we didn’t go at all.

The first few months after his death, I always had someone by my side whether it was Sam, Natasha, Clint, Tony, Pepper, Bruce... hell even Thor and Jane. I think they didn’t want me to be left alone. I don’t think I wanted to be left alone either.

My artwork got darker and darker as I coped with the darkness in my mind. I’m sure my yellow and orange paints have dried up, something that hasn’t happened since I was a kid and forgot to close the paint properly. Bucky’s arm painting is probably the most use my white paint has had in a while. I’ve moved my interests more into blues, reds, grays and blacks.

I make my way out of the studio and into the kitchen for a bowl of cereal because I’m too emotionally tired to make anything else. As I enter the room I notice there is a bowl and spoon in the sink. Not an unusual occurrence but considering I have no roommates, it probably means Sam dropped by while I was out. He does that often, ever since Bucky’s death, I think it’s just become a habit now.

I open the cupboard to start making “dinner” and pick up the box of rice cereal, only to find it completely empty. It was Bucky’s favourite cereal and he got me to eat it too when we were kids and it just kind of stuck. Either way, that has nothing to do with the fact that my newly opened box of cereal is empty.

“I’ll replace that I swear.” I freeze. I haven’t heard that voice, while I was awake, in three years. My eyes unconsciously shut. No. No it can’t be him. I’m dreaming again. That must be it. I must’ve sat down and fallen asleep. Or never woke up at all.

I can feel myself being turned around and two large hands, familiar hands, on my face. My brain is still saying it is not possible, not even an option, that he is buried six feet below the ground. But I know he’s not. We buried an empty coffin. The wreck had burst into flames. Something about a leaking gas tank.

These can’t be his hands, there was nothing left of him.

“Steve? Stevie? Will you open your eyes? Please?” I shake my head quickly trying to get this illusion out of my head. The only good it’ll do is push me back into the state I was in right after his death.

“Stevie?” I hear his voice, impossibly, soften more, and try to coax me to believe this nightmare. “Steve? Punk? Can you please open your eyes? I know this is hard, but even just a little?”

Against my common sense, better judgement and conscience, I do as his voice says to do and open my eyes.

“See, there they are. I was starting to wonder if you’d lost them while I was away.”

“Bucky?” My voice comes out as a whispered croak.

“In the flesh.” I slap my arm, pinching never really hurt enough, because this has happened way too much in a dream before and I will not get overemotional, whether it be guilt, joy, sadness or anger, over a mere dream. “You’re not dreaming, I swear.”

That was the last straw for me. “James Buchanan Barnes! How dare you do that, you insufferable little shit! Do you know how hard that was for me?”

“I-I I’m sorry, Steve, I didn’t mean – are you at least a little happy?“ He might be hurt at my comments but I’m too furious to look or care.

“Not right now, you fucking jerk! You were dead for three years and you show up all of a sudden and just expect to be welcomed with open arms and no questions? What the hell?”

“Steve, I, well, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I know it’s a shock, I know you’re mad—“ 

“Mad? I’m furious! But who wouldn’t be mad? You ate all of my cereal and faked your death for three years! Three whole fucking years, Barnes! Do you even know what that’s like?” I’m starting to feel a bit better and excited as I yell because it’s really sinking in that Bucky isn’t dead and he’s back with me.

“No, not the way you have. And hopefully, I never will. At least I knew you weren’t dead for the first few months. After that, well, I had to cut all of my connections to anyone. I had no way of knowing... Every day I woke up and wondered if you woke up too, if you were breathing today too. I had no way too know. I... I truly am sorry Steve. I know I have no way to make up for what I’ve put you through, but anything I can do I will.”

It finally truly hits me that Bucky is really back within my reach and I practically pounce on him, but I can’t bring myself to care, and give him the biggest hug I could, like I was holding onto a lifeline. Which I might be right now, I don’t know anymore.

“What happened to you? Why were you gone so long?” I pull back and look into his eyes.

“I’ll tell you, but do you mind if we sit down? It’s been a long day and it’s not exactly a short story.”

“Yeah. Yeah, no problem.” Then everything hits me. “Your rent.” I blurt out. “You can stay here for as long as you need. You’re legally dead. You can’t get a job that requires a police check. You can’t get an apartment! What’re you going to do? Let’s not focus on that. Are you hungry? Never mind, you just ate an entire box of cereal. Are you thirsty? Do you want coffee? Its eight o’clock at night, never mind. Tea?”

“Tea is fine, Steve. I’ll be in the living room, okay?”

I make our tea and go to the living room, my own dinner long forgotten. Bucky tells me of the crash, how it was planned by this ‘gang’ “for lack of a better term” as Bucky says, that called themselves HYDRA.

“I don’t remember much as I was drugged and subdued most of the time. They said it was for my arm,” Bucky says, gesturing towards his left arm, which is covered in burn marks and scars. “They put me on these drugs, which I’m pretty sure made it worse but I was too far gone to know for sure, and therapy to help me use it again. I don’t know if they had plans for me, but why else would they spend so much time, money and effort on some throwaway captive? They were busted and arrested two weeks ago. I was held in isolation so I have no idea if there were others, but I’m really glad to see you again, Stevie.”

“I’m glad to see you too, jerk.” I mumble now trying to get over my anger I have for this HYDRA group and what they did to Bucky.

“Punk.” Bucky looks over at the clock on the wall, leading me to as well and we realize that Bucky’s story had taken just over two hours to tell. “I hate to cut the night short but it’s been a long day for me and probably for you too,” I nod, confirming his statement, “and I would really like to sleep. And I umm... I don’t exactly have an apartment anymore and no one else knows I’m alive... Do you mind if I stay here for tonight?” He asks looking at me sheepishly.

I stand up immediately already heading to my room and gesturing for him to follow. “Of course you can stay, I have a few t-shirts that are too big for me and a pair of sweatpants that should fit.”

“Thanks, do all of our friends still live in the city?”

I’m slightly startled by this question and almost answer ‘No, I’m the only one left, they all ditched me for the promising beaches in the Caribbean’, until I remember that he has had absolutely way of knowing if someone moved to like Australia or something. “Yes, everyone is still in the city, although Nat and Tony have moved into different apartments, Nat was two years ago, Tony was last month.”

“But not into the same apartment, right?” I shiver at the thought.

“Oh god no. Can you imagine them living to together? No. God no. Either way, are you planning on visiting them and giving them the shock of their life?”

“Yeah, tomorrow. Do you mind coming? They should be off because tomorrow is Saturday. It is Saturday tomorrow right?” I get the clothes out of my dresser and reply.

“Yes, it is and yes I’ll be pleased to come with you. We’ll text them tomorrow asking to meet up.” I hand him the clothes. “The bathroom hasn’t moved and the couch stills pulls out.”

“Awesome, thank you so much Steve, I really mean it.” He turns to leave the room and heads out.

“No problem, good night Bucky.”

“’Night Steve. See you tomorrow. I promise.”

I change and lay down in my bed, thinking about the crazy day I just had and how I finally have Bucky back in my life for good this time.

**Author's Note:**

> Based off this post:  
> http://toxixpumpkin.tumblr.com/post/108022477839/ridiculous-sentence-prompts 
> 
> (if anyone can tell me how to add a hyperlink on here, that'd be great, please and thank you)


End file.
